


thawing frozen hearts

by inquietrooms



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: M/M, happy birthday frey, the assassin / target au no one asked for & no one needed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 12:31:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5626786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inquietrooms/pseuds/inquietrooms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The job was to kill Thomas Jefferson. The job wasn't to get to know him or to get Thomas to fall in love with him. The job wasn't to have also fallen in love with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	thawing frozen hearts

**Author's Note:**

> so, this has been written for almost a week, but i waited to post it now bc its a birthday present for a friend of mine & so, here. ya. have fun. hope u like it!

No remorse, no guilt, no emotional connections. That's what James was taught. He was to exceed confidence when needed and then other times to act like a sheepish fool. Whatever the job required, that's what he would be. Never before had he had any trouble falling into character, but for the first time he was having trouble falling out of character.

  
The job was to kill Thomas Jefferson. The job wasn't to get to know him or to get Thomas to fall in love with him. The job wasn't to have also fallen in love with him. The job was to have him killed by his own hands, or gun, or whatever he may use. That was the job.

  
James always followed orders flawlessly, and never let his employer down, but he could tell his employer was getting impatient and it was only a matter of time before he gave the job to someone else and he knew they could do it because they weren't in love with the man.

  
All his life, from when he was a boy to now he had been told he couldn't fall in love; the job wouldn't allow it. He wasn't allowed friends, or real friends anyway. Nothing he had with other people was allowed to be real, be true, and now for the first time he was breaking rules left and right just for one boy. They had gotten so close that Thomas had spoken every secret to him, he had disclosed things he never thought he would disclose. To James, Thomas is an open book, and Thomas thought that James was, too. Though, the fact that James' real job was to kill him is a bit of a mood kill so he doesn't mention anything. It's not exactly something you can talk about over beverages.

  
This all started when some rich asshole drunkenly paid his employer thousands of dollars to get rid of Thomas Jefferson, no questions asked. His employer gave James the job - obviously - and Thomas was supposed to be dead by now. It wasn't a secret to James what happens to people like him when they grow attached to their target, either they run off together, soon to be caught and poetically killed holding hands, or someone else finishes the job for him and then his employer makes sure something like this never happens again - no, he wouldn't be killed, that would be too nice. So, at this point, James is just deciding which one it will be.

  
"James?" A groggy, still half-asleep voice whined at him. James was sitting on the side of the bed, his legs hanging off the side. He turned to see Thomas cocooned in blankets, rubbing his eyes. "What are you doing up at an hour like this?"

  
"What is going on in my head does not answer to any questions you might have. I'm just worrying is all." Worry. Doubt. Love. They were all things James never experienced before; he never had time for it. "Go back to bed, dear. I promise you all will be well." Thomas hummed at James' words and buried his face back in his pillow. Quietly James got up from the bed and walked around to where Thomas was and gently ran his fingers through the man's hair, bending down to press his lips to the top of his head.

  
The choice on what he was to do had been made for a while now. One of James' personal rules was self-preservation. Do whatever he had to in order to stay alive, in order to stay free; he was not to get caught. That would raise too many questions; it would arouse suspicion. Letting out a breathy chuckle James walked over to a desk where he knew Thomas kept all of his most valuable things. Bending down he opened the bottom drawer to find a gun - an Allen and Thurber pistol to be exact - that in reality didn't belong to Thomas at all. This is what he was supposed to kill Thomas with a long time ago; this is what he had to kill Thomas with now. Carefully he took the gun out and ammunition under it, grabbing only one bullet before closing the drawer. Without thought, as if it was second nature to him - and it was, he loaded the pistol before walking beside Thomas' bed once more, a bed they used to share, but not anymore, not after this.

  
James closed his eyes. This doesn't matter. None of this matters. He repeated the two sentences in his head over and over until he could feel his hands steady and his heart rate slow. Inhaling and exhaling with each sentence, he raised the gun and opened his eyes back up, cocking it. He heard Thomas cough slightly and froze as the man pushed himself up. James held his breath. "James?"

  
He pulled the trigger.

  
The bullet missed Thomas completely and James can't deny that it was on purpose. James and Thomas locked eye contact and James could see the fear in the others' eyes, the questioning, the confusion. James inhaled sharply. "I never miss my mark. You're a lucky one."

  
"You - you never miss? James, what are you talking about?" Thomas sat up immediately; James could see he was shaking, or maybe it was _him_ shaking, or maybe them both. "Tell me right this instance!"

  
"I was paid to kill you."

  
"I beg your pardon?" At that moment frantic knocking came from behind the locked door of Thomas' bedroom.

  
"Mr. Jefferson?"

  
James stared at Thomas as hr answered. "All is well, that gunshot you heard didn't harm me."

  
"But -"

"Leave. Now!" There was scrambling from outside the door to signal whoever was there wasn't anymore. "Now, I want you to explain to me what this is all about - immediately."

"I work for someone who was paid a great lot of money to see you found dead. I was given the job; I made the job too personal."

"Too personal? I.." Thomas looked over his shoulder at the hole in his bed where the bullet had gone through. "You tried to kill me."

"Correct, sir, I did."

"Sir? Don't.. James, this isn't you. You wouldn't have tried to kill me!" Thomas let his shoulders sag after the raise in his voice before toning it back down to a whisper. "You said you loved me. Did you mean that?" James nodded, toying the unloaded gun in his hands. "People who love each other do not try to kill one another, James. Just.. tell me you didn't try to kill me."

"You had me admit to trying to kill you already. I am not a coward; I'm not hiding the fact that I attempted -"

"James, stop and tell me you didn't try to kill me. You said it yourself that you always hit your mark, then why was I different?" James was quiet. Thomas did have a point. He had hit targets from much further away, but it wasn't a secret to himself that he didn't want to kill Thomas, but he had tried to. He grabbed a gun, pointed it, and pulled the trigger. "James -"

"I didn't try to kill you," he muttered, though he wasn't fully convinced by his words, but if it would make Thomas feel better, he at least deserved that. "But.."

"But?"

"But.. that doesn't mean that someone else won't try."

"Let them."

"But they will succeed, surely you don't wish to be killed. The only way for us to get more time is by fleeing."

"Then what time shall we depart?"

James looked at him in confusion. "But Thomas, all that you have here, why would you leave such treasure behind? Any chance that you have to become President will be vanquished with such an action. You will have to live the rest of your live hiding, moving from place to place."

"But I shall have you, and to me, that sounds like it would be enough."

In the end, it was Thomas' poor health that killed him. James found that he suffered far too long before dying. It wasn't until he was gone that he realized that he didn't have much more to live for anymore, so it wasn't that hard of a decision to make to return to the very place they ran from, and after he got there he knew it wouldn't be long before his employer would find him, and what happened to him after that wouldn't matter.

Taking a deep breath, James rolled Thomas' body into the grave he had to dig for the man, standing up once he heard the thud of the body hit the ground. It was hard work to dig a grave, especially if the occupant of the grave was over six feet tall. "Curse you, Thomas Jefferson, curse you."

**Author's Note:**

> ahh, i hope u liked it ( especially u, frey ) anyways, u can follow me on twitter at @lovelylafayette & go tell frey happy birthday at @fereldens


End file.
